


Reconciliation

by Emerald_Leaves



Series: Of Fathers and Sons [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Forgiveness, Gen, Love, Pride, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Leaves/pseuds/Emerald_Leaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father and son talk about Legolas' decision to leave and what it had meant to Thranduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconciliation

By the time father and son had composed themselves well enough to let one another go, the first thing that registered to Legolas’ senses was that they were alone. Thankfully everyone had gone, knowing that privacy was what their monarchs needed. The Elvenking was not one that liked an audience to such displays despite his flair for dramatics when it came to anger. While he would never admit it, Legolas knew showing such deeply felt emotions embarrassed his father, scared him, as the older elf’s life had hardly been peaceful. Such exhibits of what he perceived as weakness had only hurt in the past. 

So, glad that there was no one else around now, the prince pulled away slightly, wanting to see his father’s face for comfort. But for all his gentleness, it was Thranduil that pulled away first. Legolas gasped as he looked into the devastated face before him. One eye completely missing, a blackened hole where the sapphire orb had once sat, sinew and muscle exposed cheek, and angry red scars across his face, down his neck, a piece of his nose missing at the side. 

And while so close, it was easy to see that the other half of the face was little better. Pale skin, shallow cheek, and a dark bruise under the remaining eye. It only then registered to the prince that his father had lost weight. That he had become almost sickly in his son’s absence. 

Still holding his son’s shoulders, Thranduil’s sole eye roved over his child’s face, panic burning acutely from within the remaining orb. The king was still shaking; the tears from before streaking down the remaining cheek. It had been years since Legolas had seen his father’s scars, but he’d never seen them before so vividly. In the past, the glamour only slipped when the elder elf was particularly agitated, losing control of his temper. But even then Thranduil had had the presence of mind to keep it partially raised so that not even his son had known the extent of the damage done many centuries before. 

Now Legolas knew.

“A-are you hurt?” 

The slurred, distorted question brought the prince out of his musings as he stared in sorrow at his father. “No,” he responded immediately. It astonished the younger ellon that he had caused his father so much suffering. Enough that he lost control over his most heavily guarded secret. His deep and regretted curse. 

“Don’t lie,” the rebuke was sharp despite the impediment caused by the deconstruction of the face. “Are you hiding any injuries?” 

“No,” Legolas said again, shaking his head. Tears still streamed down from his eyes as he watched his father feel over his shoulders, his back, before one mutilated hand and one pale, roved over his face, as if he could find some hidden hurt, before both hands rested on either side of the young elf’s face. “I-I wasn’t hurt,” the prince replied. “Not s-severely anyway. Just normal s-scrapes and bruises that have long since healed.”

One cold blue eye shone with obvious suspicion, but eventually, relief left no room for anymore doubt. When a sigh that relieved tension parted from the king’s lips, he looked down. It took several more shuddered breathes before the king was able to gaze up at his son again, but this time, the prince was met with not the relief and anxiety of before. In an instant he knew he was not looking at his father anymore, but rather, the Elvenking. 

Before the prince knew what was happening, his father reeled back one hand as best as he could in their current position, rage radiating from deep within, before slapping the younger elf across the face. Legolas’ head snapped to the side, following the motion, having not been prepared. 

It took him a full minute to register the fact that he had been struck, but even through the sting, he was glad of it. Glad to finally be getting the punishment he deserved. Seeing his father fall apart so completely …the prince was comforted to know that Thranduil was slowly gathering himself back up again. He deserved this, deserved to be punished after all he had done. 

But as he turned back towards the Elvenking, his father was there once more, eye wide in absolute horror. Instantly Thranduil’s hand reached out to his son, hovering just over the cheek he’d struck, regret and worry causing what remained of his lip to quiver. What little color the Sindar had retained fled. 

“I-I’m so s-s-sorry,” he whispered in shock. His hand continued to hover, never quite touching.

Shaking his head, Legolas found himself once again crushed with guilt for making his father feel so utterly miserable. “No, i-it’s fine. I…I deserved that.”

“Never!” Thranduil hissed. 

The two sat in silence before sitting back away from one another, their arms useless at their sides or in their laps. It was the king who stood first, Legolas quickly scrabbling to his feet a moment after. And for several tense, eternal minutes, the two just stared around them, refusing to look at one another despite wanting to look at nothing else. And when next the prince did sneak a peek at his father, his face was slowly weaving itself back together. The glamoured eye had returned, milky and cloudy, but there, and the scars up his neck and hand were hidden once more, reconstructing slowly. 

And with a shuddered breath, running a hand through his long, pale hair, Thranduil finally met his son’s gaze. “You…are well?” he asked, words coming out much more clearly. “Truly?” 

A nervous laugh escaped the prince as he nodded. “Yes.”

The Elvenking stared at the young warrior, scrutinizing, before the tension in his shoulders finally relaxed. The glamour did not return in full yet, indicating to the prince that his father was still having difficulties controlling what he was feeling. Which was understandable. After all, it was not everyday a wayward son returned home safe and unharmed after a nearly impossible mission. Despite his long life, his centuries of experience, Thranduil had finally come into a situation he did not know how to deal with, it appeared. It was obvious he was torn between the duties of a king and the desires of a father. 

But the elder elf nodded, hands clasped together, as if trying to find the words he so desperately seemed to want to speak. “I’m…” he trailed off, before glancing up at his son. His eyes refused to look at his handprint on his son’s face. It was actually the first time his father had ever struck Legolas. 

The realization, however, was short lived, and he remembered his earlier fear when a black scowl formed on the king’s face. Suddenly he was not Ada anymore. Bracing himself, Legolas bowed his head just as Thranduil snarled, “What were you thinking?” 

Legolas felt himself shrink, but said nothing. 

“What were you thinking?!” the king bellowed, remembering his anger. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?! Are you insane?! Running off on some…some…suicide mission,” he spat. 

The prince stared down at the floor, face burning with shame and guilt. Every word was deserved, every snarl and scowl, yet the young elf felt himself shiver in the wake of his father’s rage. He had expected this, knew it was coming, but to hear the absolute fury in the king’s voice, especially after what had just passed between them, made the archer feel suddenly very, very small. As though he were nothing but an elfling, having gotten caught breaking the rules. Only unlike when he was a child, Legolas knew that he would not get off with a simple reprimand and a slap to the bottom. 

Thranduil, either ignoring or oblivious to his son’s state, began pacing, his movement sharp and jerking. It was like watching a caged warg, knowing that soon the enclosure would not be enough to contain him. “A letter?” the king continued in his tirade. “All I get is a short letter explaining to me why you weren’t coming home?” 

Unable to keep quiet, Legolas lifted his head, trying to explain, “I just thought―”

“No,” Thranduil turned, hissing, absolutely livid. “No, I don’t believe you did think. Did you even read what you’d written at all? What was it I supposed to make of it?”

“I thought―”

“‘Dear Ada.’” Legolas froze midsentence. “‘I regret to inform you that I will not be coming home,’” Thranduil quoted spitefully, causing the younger ellon to wince. “‘I have been asked personally by Lord Elrond to undertake an important quest.”

“I-I just thought…” Legolas whispered feebly, absolutely sick at having his own words thrown back in his face. 

But it was obvious is father wasn’t feeling at all merciful. Instead, the king continued to pace, reciting the letter his son had sent him a year ago from memory. “‘I feel that this quest may be the most important mission of my life, and I will accompany a new Fellowship as far as it may go. It is my duty not only to our home, but to all of Middle Earth. I do not suppose I will ever see you again,’” his voice cracked as he spoke the last part. 

If there was a way for Legolas to feel any worse, he wasn’t sure how. All he could do was stare down at the floor, unable to look at his father for fear of crying. The last thing he wanted to do was break down again, especially while his father was so angry. 

“‘I do not suppose I will ever see you again,’” Thranduil pushed on, “‘but know that I go of my own free will and with the hopes that I can, perhaps, do my part in ending the darkness that has befallen the land. Do not send for me. If able, I will return to you, Valar willing. Your son, Legolas.’”

Silence fell over the two elves, but while Thranduil’s eyes burned into his son, Legolas refused to meet them. He wouldn’t be able to take it. The fact was, he had read over his letter― many, many times― before sending it off with the others to deliver to his father. He’d agonized over what to say, trying to relate what he felt, yet unable to give much detail due to the sensitivity of the topic if the letter should fall into enemy hands. But hearing the letter out loud, hearing the anger and anguish in his father’s voice, what was meant to be a letter of hope and perhaps bitter comfort should anything befall the prince, sounded absolutely thoughtless and wholly wretched to the young elf’s ears now. 

“And that’s all I get?” the king asked quietly. “One small note? Do you have any idea what this sounded like to me? Did you even think you would survive?” 

Truth be told, Legolas hadn’t thought he would live to see his home again. While he had kept an optimistic attitude when with his friends, it was largely for their sakes rather than any real hope of living to see the end. The truth was the prince had not been expecting to live much longer after his time in the Golden Wood. After Gandalf’s fight with the Balrog and death, the wood elf had begun to realize how truly dangerous their mission was. It wasn’t just about killing a few orc. There were creatures in the world much more dangerous than giant spiders. There had not always been trees to hide and take refuge in, or the comfort of knowing that his father’s stronghold was near at hand. 

It was in Lothlórien, when grieving, that Legolas had truly contemplated mortality for the first time. Of course he’d thought about it before leaving on the quest, but now that he’d heard the letter out loud, he wondered if part of him hadn’t just been being melodramatic. He had not truly known mortality, never thought of it for himself until Mithrandir’s passing, and it only became truly real as he watched Boromir die. And when he’d been fighting at Helms Deep, so outnumbered, it was the first time Legolas had felt a true thrill of hopelessness, wondering if at least his body would be found among the dead, or if it could ever be returned to his father. 

But he did not share his morbid contemplated lessons with his father. It was clear that the elder elf would not be able to take it. Death was something Thranduil understood very well, too well for one never meant to die. If a simple letter had torn him apart so, Legolas feared what a confirmation of his fears might do. 

“After all I’ve done for you,” the ancient elf continued. “After all I’ve gone through to protect you, to keep you safe, you run off the first chance you get and place your life needlessly in danger! And don’t you dare argue with me about its necessity,” he snarled, narrowing his eyes at his usually defensive son. “There were plenty of other elves left in Arda that Elrond could have asked to go. Why not Glorfindel?” He laughed humorlessly. “He couldn’t spare his mighty Balrog Slayer and had to send out a child instead?” 

“Ada, you’re not being―”

“What?” Thranduil snapped. “Fair? Reasonable? Oh no, Legolas,” his voice dropped into something deadly. “I’m being completely sensible. If Elrond wanted to sacrifice an elfling, why hadn’t he sent one of his sons? He has three children, why did he have to sacrifice my one?” 

The anguished bitterness left the younger elf breathless. While still so ashamed and guilty for what he had put his father through, Legolas also couldn’t help but feel touched. Despite his gruffness, his cold arrogance with others, Thranduil loved his son. His father loved him. It was so clear for any and all to see. The archer wondered how anyone could have believed his father heartless. 

As the Elvenking fought to gain control over himself after his last outburst, Legolas stood steady, waiting for the punishment that was sure to come. He almost wished his father would just hit him again. 

Another deep breath and Thranduil turned frosty eyes upon his child. “You abandoned your post,” his voice came out even, but no less angry. “You abandoned your responsibilities here in your realm, a captain of my Royal Patrol. You blatantly disregarded and disobeyed your king after given clear instruction. You not only put yourself at risk, you potentially endangered your realm by leaving your men.”

Legolas closed his eyes, waiting for the Elvenking’s judgment. 

“But all that being said―” The younger elf chanced a glance up after hearing his father’s sigh. “―what you did, the quest you undertook, directly resulted in the coming of peace to Arda. To this realm.” 

Legolas could only gape at the Elvenking in shock. 

“Word has reached even here of your great deeds, Legolas,” Thranduil’s eyes melted, the harsh coldness finally thawing. “You braved not only the journey through Moria, but saw a Balrog of Morgoth face to face. You ran across the plains of the Riddermark and survived the greatest siege of this age. You walked through the paths of the dead, and stood before the Black Gates. 

“You are part of the Fellowship of the Ring. One of the Nine Walkers. The Nazgûl Slayer. And I…I couldn’t be more proud to have you as my son.”

That was it. Legolas couldn’t take it anymore. Without thought, he rushed forward and into his father’s arms. The two elves embraced once again. 

“I’m so sorry, Ada,” the prince mumbled into his father’s chest. “I just…I just did what I thought was right. I never meant to hurt you,” he confessed, feeling the weight he had carried with him since Rivendell finally ease. 

Thranduil stroked his son’s hair, holding him gently, before placing a kiss atop his head. “I know, son. I know.”

Pulling away, the prince found he felt more relieved than he had before. The worst was over. The storm of his father’s anger had past and he was still here. His father understood. His father forgave him. His father still loved him. 

When they forced themselves apart, Legolas let out a nervous laugh, wiping his eyes, unashamed of his tears. “So…what now?” he asked, uncertain as to how to move on from here. 

“Now?” Thranduil smiled at his son, his face whole, the glamour complete once more. “Now you will go clean up and prepare for a feast. Our hero has returned to us at last! We must celebrate!”

The younger elf smiled, a slight flush coming over his face at the praise. “I am hungry,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. 

“Of course you are,” the king nodded patiently. 

Beaming at his father, Legolas turned to go, the idea of being clean and refreshed very appealing after the long journey and emotional turmoil that had only just occurred. But as he was walking down towards the bridge, his father called out to him. “And Legolas?”

“Yes?” he answered, dutifully turning around. 

With a mock-benevolent smile, walking towards his son, the Elvenking replied too sweetly, “You are absolutely forbidden from leaving this realm again until I say otherwise.” 

The prince blinked, opening his mouth to argue, but Thranduil held up his hand. “Go and get ready for the feast,” he lightly pushed his son in the direction of his room. “I will give you your list of punishments for your disobedience tomorrow.”

Legolas winced, having a very bad feeling that mucking the stalls was going to be his fate for a long, long time. But being simply too relieved to be home and forgiven, he didn’t mind much. “Yes, Ada,” he sighed playfully, before walking off towards his room. His father’s low chuckled following him as he went. 

It was good to be home.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Aaaaand, that’s it for this one, folks. Hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> And I don’t normally like to toot my own horn, but if y’all are interested in my writing, and want more Thranduil, please check out my other story Trials by Fire. I’m attempting to write a full length drama about a young Thranduil living in Doriath, explain how he got his scars, and will continue until after the destruction of Doriath and the displacement of the Sindar elves. It’s been an idea I’ve had in the back of my mind literally for years now, but with the final Hobbit movie out, I think I’m actually brave enough to post. So, please go check it out if you want to see my take on what happened to make Thranduil into the stern, sometimes portrayed nasty king that he is in The Hobbit. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Drop a comment on your way out, as I’d be most beholdin’ to ya!


End file.
